


Timespace Shenanigans and Amnesiac Gods

by apersonwhowritesthings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Homestuck
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, I mean come on, cursing, dave misses the internet, it's homestuck, timey-wimey stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apersonwhowritesthings/pseuds/apersonwhowritesthings
Summary: Your name is Harry Potter, and holy shit why is there a kid in red pajamas bleeding out in your hotel room? Jesus Christmas on a unicycle, it's way too early for this.





	1. Chapter 1

A young man lies in his bed. It just so happens that this day, in August of 1993, is mere days after his thirteenth birthday. It was thirteen years ago that he was given life, and thirteen years ago that he was given a name!

What was his name again?

Right!

The young man’s name was Harry Potter. He was known through all of the wizarding world for being prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord, who he may or may not have killed 12 years ago. It was an accident, of course, it wasn’t  _ his _ fault that Voldemort had directed a killing curse at him, and it just so happened that it didn’t work and rebounded. But here he was, now legally a teenager and staying in a wizard hotel after an incident in which his aunt was blown up like a balloon.

But that was a bit less of a concern on his mind at the moment, seeing as there was a massive orb of orange light in front of him.

“What the-!”

Harry rubbed his tired eyes when the light flashed and woke him up, reaching for his glasses and putting them on. The boy who lived squinted into the orb- it looked almost like a small star, bright blood red and producing enough light to blind you if you were to look directly at it. When Harry’s eyesight adjusted a bit, he could almost make out the edges of a spinning red cog, and at the edge of his hearing there was an erratic ticking, like a clock sped up a thousandfold.

Suddenly, the light dissipated, and when Harry looked back, in its place was a boy.

He didn’t have much time to take in his appearance, seeing as he appeared to be bleeding out of a massive wound to his chest.

“MEDIC! WE NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION!” Harry yelled, hoping someone would hear as he rushed towards the body before him. He checked the pulse- still beating, just very faintly. The beats were consistent and went in 4/4 time, slowly and faintly, but getting softer. “Are you okay?! Do you remember anything?”

“J-Jack- he-” Harry barely had time to hear a few words before the boy passed out. He had an American accent- definitely not from here. Harry scooped him up and threw open the door, running down the stairs to the opening room of the Leaky Cauldron. As he did, he took a second to take in the body’s appearance. He seemed about his age, 13 or 14. He had short blond hair, bordering on platinum, and wore a set of pajama-like clothing colored entirely in shades of red. His eyes were covered by a dark pair of aviator shades, and his skin was pale, though part of it was probably from blood loss. He burst into the room, where people were chatting happily and eating breakfast.

“Harry, I heard you yell, what’s goi-” The innkeeper, Tom, flashed him a look of worry.

“No time to explain, he’s dying! Do you know any healing magic?”

“What the- oh god! No, I don’t!” Tom stared at the boy’s body, limp in Harry’s arms. “DOES ANYONE HERE HAVE HEALING EXPERIENCE?!” he yelled, catching the attention of the others. Many of them gasped when they saw Harry carrying the boy. One of them, though- a plump older witch with graying hair- stood up. 

“I-I used to work for St. Mungo’s, maybe I can help!” she squeaked. Harry quickly ran over to an empty table, placing the body gently on the wood as the witch came over.

“Oh gosh-” A mild panic washed over her face as she examined him. People were watching from a distance, murmuring about who he was, if he was connected to Harry, if he would even survive… The witch fumbled out her wand, murmuring a spell under her breath. The blood on the clothing disappeared, though more continued to flow from the wound below the ripped red shirts (what kind of person wore two shirts at once?). She tapped the wound with her wand again. Nothing happened. She hesitantly did it again. “Wh-why won’t this work? Is it some kind of cursed wound?”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, still staring at the red-clad body.

“The- the wound-sealing spell won’t work! This has never happened! I think that- that whatever did this was either a very powerful curse, o-or a magical weapon-”

Harry gripped the boy’s wrist again.

The pulse disappeared.

“He’s… he’s gone.”

The entire inn was silent. Harry looked down at the boy, confused beyond reason and sad beyond logic. Someone just  _ died, _ right in front of him. Harry’s mind went over everything that happened in the last three minutes- he had appeared, but not apparated, he had said something about Jack- was it a friend of his in danger? And now the boy with the cog symbol on his pajamas was gone, before any of his questions could be answered.

Everything was quiet in mourning.

But then, another flash of light appeared, surrounding the body- it was flashing brightly between whites and reds and blues and yellows and back to blue. People were yelling confusion as the boy was rising off the table, gleaming with light, and the wound was flashing the brightest, almost as bright as the light that had awoken Harry mere minutes ago-

It stopped, and he dropped back to the table, banging his head on the wood surface.

“Ow, fuck!”

The entire bar stared in shock as the boy got up. The pajamas were mended, the blood was gone, and he was conscious.

“Wh- how are you alive?!”

“How am I alive? How about you tell me where the fuck I am before you start questioning me like some sort of criminal? Mister, you just woke up from a two-year coma, what’s the capital of New Hampshire? You have multiple injuries but please let me know the address where the first Pizza Hut was founded. We’re in the middle of a war against the most powerful being on this side of the cosmos but the most pressing matter at hand is you complying to our assholery. Shit, who even are you?”

“Could you at least watch your language, we’re in a public place, young man!” the witch sputtered. “Harry, how did you even find him?”

“I- I was asleep, but I woke up there was this weird flash of red light- when it died down, he showed up all bloody, said something about someone named Jack, and passed out.”

“What? Who’s Jack? Must be pretty important if I mentioned it, but still…” The blond adjusted his shades, thinking.

“Maybe you have amnesia. Do you remember who you are?”

“Dave Strider, Knight of Time, god of sick beats, lord of irony,” Dave replied, seemingly on instinct. That suspicion was confirmed when Dave seemed to attempt to think about his words. It was hard to tell, his expression was almost blank, especially behind the shades. “Huh. Yeah, that’s me. Dave. Dave Strider. I don’t… I don’t think I remember anything else? I know I’m awesome, but- there’s something I’m not getting. Dunno. Also hey- Harry, was it?- why does everyone here sound British?”

“Dave, you’re in London.”

“Huh, that makes no sense, but neither does anything else right now.” Dave stood up, looking around at the Leaky Cauldron. “So, why is everyone staring at me?”

“You just died and then came back to life in a weird flashy lightshow!” one of the patrons yelled to him. “That just doesn’t happen!”

“Huh. Doesn’t feel that weird to me. Is that not supposed to happen?”

“Alright, everyone back to your normal business!” Tom yelled suddenly. “This boy needs attention to make sure he’s really healed, and probably has things to think over! Dave, you go upstairs with Harry, I’m going to send a message to Dumbledore, he’ll know what to do…”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, Dumbledore should know what to do, he’s always full of advice and ideas like that. “Sounds great, Tom. Dave, come on, let’s get out of here.”

Dave shrugged and followed Harry as he beckoned him toward the stairs. They trudged back up to the room, where there was no sign of Dave’s arrival aside from a ripped piece of his shirt.

“What all do you remember?” Harry asked carefully as he took a seat on his bed. Dave sat in one of the chairs across the room, leaning back with a blank expression.

“Hm. You don’t seem to want to kill me, so I guess I’ll talk. The name’s Dave Strider, I’m thirteen, and my favorite color is orange. I’m the Knight of Time, whatever that means. I like music, I think I dabbled in DJ shit at one point. I don’t like taking off my shades, I think they might be important. And I think I have friends? Huh. Well of course I would have friends, being the coolest kid around them, shit’s cooler than AJ. Oh god, there’s what I was missing, apple juice. Damn I’m thirsty. Death must make you thirsty, especially considering the whole idea of a drying out corpse, shit’s as real as Cheez Whiz is fake.” He paused his tangent for breath, trying to collect any more thoughts. “And that’s about it.”

Harry stared at Dave. His appearance was similar to a muggle’s, save for the cape and the vibrantly red color scheme, but no muggle could just show up in his hotel room in a flash of bright light. 

“Do you know if you’re a wizard?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“What? No, isn’t that shit fake?” Dave quirked his mouth up into a small smirk. “That one lady was poking me with a wand, though. Guess I could be wrong.”

He didn’t know that magic was real. Definitely pointing in the muggle direction, but perhaps it was just the amnesia.

“Do you remember any people, or where you’re from? You sound American.”

“Texas, I believe. And yeah, I think I remember… my big Bro, and three other people who I’ve known online for like six years.”

“What do you mean, online?”

“Internet, duh.”

“But- the internet has only gained any ground in, what, the last two years?”

“Pfft, get with the times, dude. It’s 2009, internet’s everywhere. Internet’s taking over the lives of an entire generation and I can’t say I’m upset.”

“Dave, it’s 1992.”

Dave froze. “Wait- it’s 1992?”

“Yes!”

Harry watched as Dave’s expression turned even more confused. “Well fuck, I guess now we have time travel to consider here, too.”

“You said you were a ‘Knight of Time’, do you think that means anything? Maybe you worked for the Ministry, keeping time in check? No, but you’re too young…” Harry mumbled. 

“Hey glasses, as much as I enjoy playing 20 questions with my life story that I barely remember, I’ve got a few for you. How about we take a switch?” Dave asked with a shrug. Harry snapped out of his thoughts.

They could always discuss him more when Dumbledore arrived.

“Sure,” he said with a small smile.

“Cool. Question one, what’s your name, age, and favorite color? I don’t mean to start off too personal, so if you don’t feel comfortable with answering the color I completely understand.”

“Erm, Harry Potter, 13, and I suppose red.” This Dave seemed to be a joker type. No, he wasn’t silly enough for these to be jokes. Ironic? He dubbed himself the ‘lord of irony’ before.

“Nice. Red’s cool. Second, why are you in a hotel without a guardian?”

“Heh, that’s a bit of a long story… my aunt and uncle were taking care of me for summer until I got to go back to school. There was a mishap with magic, and long story short, my aunt blew up like a balloon, I ran away, and the Minister of Magic got me this room.”

“Well you must be some big figure if a goddamn minister is renting you rooms,” Dave chuckled, clasping his hands together. 

“I’m a bit infamous in the wizarding world, yes…”

“What did you do? Light an orphanage on fire? Rob a bank? Turn all the world’s sugar into salt? Damn, that would be evil.”

“No, actually. When I was a baby, this evil wizard named Voldemort- yes, that’s his name,” Harry said as Dave snorted at the name. “He killed my mum and dad, then tried to kill me, and the curse he was using somehow reflected onto him and he died instead. But he’s been trying to come back, and I’ve had to defeat him twice more already. Everyone in magical Britain and probably the magical world knows me as the ‘boy who lived’.”

“Huh, cool.” Dave shrugged.

“Hey, could you tell me what time it is? There’s no clock here, but there should be one down the hall.”

“It’s 7:24 AM and forty-three seconds. August 13th, 1992.”

“Um-”

“I just know. Dunno how. Feels right.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the strange boys even stranger behavior. He stood and walked over to the door, cracking it open and looking down the hall at the clock. 7:24.

“It’s off by four seconds.”

Harry flinched as Dave snuck up behind him to take a look at the clock. How did he do that? He was like a freaking ninja.

“You’re strange, Dave, you know that?”

“Better than being boring, I guess.”

 

Albus Dumbledore had been having an average enough day. He sat in his office, overlooking the lists of new students that would be arriving at Hogwarts this year. It was still early in the morning, the sun barely shining through the window as the old professor puckered his lips at the taste of another lemon drop. The window was open wide to let in the early morning air, and apparently it was a call for visitors. Dumbledore looked up at the sound of a cooing noise to see a tawny owl roosting at the edge of the windowsill. A note was tied around its leg.

Dumbledore smiled and stood up, moving past a few of his whizzing magical belongings to untie the letter from the owl’s foot. He gave it a soft pat on the head as he opened the letter, looking at the hurried scrawl.

_ Professor Dumbledore, _

_ This is Tom, from the Leaky Cauldron. While I would love to make idle chat, I have quite urgent news. Mere minutes ago, Harry came downstairs with a dying child in bright red clothes in his arms. Apparently he had appeared in Harry’s room in a flash of light with a gashing wound. We tried to heal him, but he died on one of our tables. This would be tragic had it not been for the fact that afterwards, he started glowing, and came back to life! His name is Dave Strider, and Harry should be speaking with him now. I’m writing to ask you to come down to the Leaky Cauldron to investigate. You’re the only person I trust with this information. _

_ Hope to see you soon, _

_ Tom _

Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. Even with magic, raising the dead was an impossible feat. Was it some undiscovered dark magic? Dave Strider…

The wizard looked back at his list, down the S names. Chris Scott, Tyler Shaw, Velma Stanley… 

In fresh, bright red ink that clashed against the rest of the black letters and yellowish parchment, the name DAVE STRIDER was scrawled into the paper.

Curious.

 

“Harry, Dave, you have a visitor!”

Harry opened the door as Tom knocked. 

“Harry Potter, good to see you.”

“Dumbledore!” Harry smiled. “It’s great to see you, too- been a while. Did you come to meet Dave?”

“It just so happens that I did. Would you mind introducing me?”

“Of course, professor, come in.”

Harry opened the door all the way, allowing Dumbledore into the hotel room. He took a quick glance around before his eyes settled on Dave, who was sitting down on Harry’s bed. 

“Ah, Mister Strider. Pleasure to meet you.” Dumbledore smiled warmly and extended a hand in Dave’s direction.

“Th’ name’s Dave, you know,” he said, keeping a straight face as he shook the hand. “Mister Strider was my brother.” 

“Well then, Dave, I’m Professor Dumbledore. I’m the headmaster at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Huh, cool. So are you here to whisk me off to magic school on the back of a unicorn that pukes rainbows and flies through pure friendship after we sing a special song?”

“Well, the unicorn would be a tad bit excessive, but the first part is accurate.” The elder wizard reached into his pocket, pulling out a letter sealed with a wax stamp. “Your name just appeared in my lists today. We usually have students start at age eleven, but it appears there’s been an… exception.”

Dave took the letter and opened it curiously. Behind his shades, he scanned the paper. “Huh. Looks cool. Where will I get supplies, though? I dunno if I’ve ever seen a wand store next to any burger joints back home.”

“Well Dave, it just so happens that you ended up right next door to Diagon Alley, one of the most popular public areas in Britain for wizard’s shopping needs. Since your parents don’t seem to have been wizards, your costs should be covered by the school…” Dumbledore looked down at Dave curiously. “I suppose that I can rent you a room here too. Harry can help you get to Hogwarts when term starts. But for now, we should go get your supplies… Harry, would you like to tag along?”

“Of course, Professor!” Harry replied with a mock salute. “Could you let me change? I’ll be ready in just a minute.” The black-haired boy motioned them to the door, and the other two left the room, closing the door behind them.

“Well, Dave… while Harry is preparing himself, do you want to tell me about yourself?”

“I guess. I’m Dave Strider, the Knight of Time. Not entirely sure what that means, but I think the pajamas has to do with it in some way. I can’t remember much, I’ve turned into some sort of bullshit movie protagonist with amnesia-”

“Language, Dave.”

“Right, right. Well, I’m thirteen, and apparently I travelled back in time somehow, considering that the last thing I remember is being in 2009… and apparently I’m a wizard now. Safe to say that the world just decided to throw me through so many loopholes to get here that I double-knotted an entire timeline like a pair of spacetime shoelaces and the shoes are this entire universe.”

“I see you have quite the penchant for metaphors.”

“It’s kind of my thing. You’re speaking to the lord of irony. All my subjects bow down to me in a legendary chapel, painted in the brightest neon colors, with smuppets scattered about the floor like rose petals at an alter. Instead of incense they burn apple juice as an offering to receive my blessings of sarcastic brilliance. No biggie.” Dave shrugged. As he did, Harry opened his room door, now fully dressed in his muggle clothes- a pair of blue jeans with a simple grey t-shirt.

“Ready!”

 

An hour later, nearly all of Dave’s books, potions ingredients, robes, and other supplies had been bought. Other than a run-in with a  _ Monster Book of Monsters _ that tried to eat his cape, and a small amount of time where Harry had been drooling over a Firebolt on display which had led to an explanation of Quidditch, everything had gone smoothly thus far.

“What else do we need?”

“Well, Dave, the only thing left is to get you a wand,” Dumbledore replied, leading Dave and Harry into a familiar shop.

“Ah, Mister Potter!” The old shopkeeper, Ollivander, wandered into the room with a mysterious grin. “11 inches, holly, phoenix feather core, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Of course, Ollivander,” Harry smiled. 

“Ah, Ollivander, great to see you,” Dumbledore smiled. “I would love to chat, but our friend here needs a wand.”

Ollivander stared down at Dave with a twinkle in his eye. “But of course! Well then, young man, what’s your name?”

“Dave Strider. I’m here for a wand, right? So do I just pick one out?”

“Of course not. You see, Mister Strider, the wand chooses the wizard…” Ollivander took a wand that was hanging from the wall. “Try this one. Unicorn hair core, 14 and a quarter inches, made with oak.”

Dave took the wand in his left hand and, with uncertainty, flicked his wrist. A wispy strand of orange mist shot out from it, and Ollivander quickly snatched it back.

“No no, not at all…” the wandmaker mumbled. “Here. Phoenix feather, 10 and a half inches, aspen.”

Dave waved the new wand a bit. A screeching blast of what seemed to be compressed air knocked him back and hit a shelf, almost causing it to fall over.

“Hmm… try this- another unicorn hair, 11 and three-quarters inches, made of willow. Almost bendy.” When Dave tried this one, a reddish gas emerged from the tip and swirled around in front of him. “Even worse, hmm. Dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches, elm.”

Again and again, Ollivander shoved wands into Dave’s hands, only to reject them moments later. Harry took a seat on one of the benches in the corner of the room, and Dumbledore soon followed suit. Even Harry’s wand hadn’t taken this long to find- seconds turned to minutes, turned to almost an hour, and every single wand ‘rejected’ Dave.

“Curious, curious,” Ollivander sighed. “You may be one of the trickiest children I’ve ever come across in this job, David…”

“Well, it ain’t my fault that all these wands seem to hate me,” Dave grumbled, readjusting his shades.

“Perhaps… perhaps we should delve into some of my more unusual wands.” Ollivander went behind his desk and pulled out a drawer. Dave couldn’t see very well, but there appeared to be a few dozen more wands, lined up neatly on a velvet-like surface. “Hm. Try this one. Nine inches, made of fir, with a core of acromantula hair.” Dave took the wand, and giving it a wave produced a high pitched screeching noise. He dropped it to the ground and covered his ears, and the noise subsided. “I see, I see… perhaps this. Hippogriff feather core, a bit brittle, sixteen and a quarter inches, birch.” Another wave of another wand. Nothing happened. “I see… then maybe…” Ollivander scratched his chin before picking up a wand. “Try this one. Made with the wood of an apple tree, thirteen and a half inches, augurey feather core. Quite flexible.”

Dave sighed, taking what must have been the thousandth wand of the day. But when this one was in his grasp… it felt different. Almost warm against his touch. He gave the wand a subtle wave. A flash of red sparks flew from the tip, whizzing around the room for a few seconds in a sporadic light show before disappearing.

“I think this is it,” Dave murmured, examining the light wood of the wand with fascination hidden behind his shades.

“Ah! It seems we’ve finally found it!” Ollivander gave Dave a wide grin. “I almost thought we’d never find a proper one…” 

“Of course I ended up with apple wood. Heh.”


	2. In Which Dave is Bad at Naming Birds

_ “Dude, this is stupid.” _

_ “C’mon, lil’ bro, chicken?” _

_ Dave gripped his katana and rolled his eyes. “It’s three in the fucking morning, it’s colder than Satan’s balls out here, and I’m tired. I was up until past midnight finishing a mix. Give me a goddamn break!” _

_ “Robbers and enemies won’t give you any breaks,” the taller blond said with a lazy smirk. “Jus’ strife me. I promise you can go to bed after that.” _

_ “Fine,” Dave grumbled, if only for the promise of sleep. _

_ Immediately, B̴̷̴̷̵̵̷̵̴̴̶̴̴̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̷̴̴̴̴̷̷̵̶̶̶̨̺̳͈̘̝ͣ̆r̷̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̶̵̴̷̵̶̴̴̷̶̴̷̴̵̷̵̵̵̵̴̴̴̵̹͓̬̞̣ͫ͠ͅọ̷̶̵̵̷̴̵̴̴̵̴̴̴̵̶̶̶̶̴̵̴̶̶̴̴̴̴̴̷̷̵̴̩̠̜̽ͤ͠͞ began flashstepping around the roof in a barely visible blur, forcing Dave to make guesses about where he would strike. The first blow was easy to block. He always started with a slash to his right arm, just to make sure he was responsive enough to handle more. Metal clashed and sparks flew as Dave blocked the following movements, slowly draining his already barely-present energy. Suddenly he felt a cloth something hit his face. Dave turned around to see B̴̷̴̷̵̵̷̵̴̴̶̴̴̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̷̴̴̴̴̷̷̵̶̶̶̨̺̳͈̘̝ͣ̆r̷̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̶̵̴̷̵̶̴̴̷̶̴̷̴̵̷̵̵̵̵̴̴̴̵̹͓̬̞̣ͫ͠ͅọ̷̶̵̵̷̴̵̴̴̵̴̴̴̵̶̶̶̶̴̵̴̶̶̴̴̴̴̴̷̷̵̴̩̠̜̽ͤ͠͞ flashstepping around Lil Cal. The puppet stared at him with dead eyes as Dave attempted to hit it, only to have Ḑ̷̵̵̴̵̷̶̷̵̶̶̷̷̴̵̵̴̷̷̴̷̵̷̴̷̴̶̵̴̶̵̴̛̮̑ͨ͛̚͞i̶̷̶̶̴̶̶̵̷̵̶̴̷̷̷̵̶̶̷̴̶̶̴̶̵̴̴̵̴̷̶̵̡̠̜̗̓́̂̈r̶̴̶̵̶̴̴̴̷̴̷̵̵̷̵̴̴̶̴̴̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̷̴̴̴̭̻͚̻͚ͦ͛̚k̷̶̷̷̵̴̵̷̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̶̵̴̷̵̶̴̴̷̶̴̷̴̵̷̵̰̯̰̻͇̒ͦ͝ flash him to another part of the roof. _

_ Wait a second. _

_ His target wasn’t Cal, right? Dave took quick backwards steps to get away from the puppet. Wasn’t Ḑ̷̵̵̴̵̷̶̷̵̶̶̷̷̴̵̵̴̷̷̴̷̵̷̴̷̴̶̵̴̶̵̴̛̮̑ͨ͛̚͞i̶̷̶̶̴̶̶̵̷̵̶̴̷̷̷̵̶̶̷̴̶̶̴̶̵̴̴̵̴̷̶̵̡̠̜̗̓́̂̈r̶̴̶̵̶̴̴̴̷̴̷̵̵̷̵̴̴̶̴̴̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̷̴̴̴̭̻͚̻͚ͦ͛̚k̷̶̷̷̵̴̵̷̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̶̵̴̷̵̶̴̴̷̶̴̷̴̵̷̵̰̯̰̻͇̒ͦ͝ his opponent, technically? Dave focused on the area around Cal. He could barely make out his brother’s near constant movement to keep the marionette in air. Dave waited for a second as Cal was flashed closer to him and- _

_ “FUCK!” _

_ Dave dropped his sword. B̴̷̴̷̵̵̷̵̴̴̶̴̴̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̷̴̴̴̴̷̷̵̶̶̶̨̺̳͈̘̝ͣ̆r̷̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̶̵̴̷̵̶̴̴̷̶̴̷̴̵̷̵̵̵̵̴̴̴̵̹͓̬̞̣ͫ͠ͅọ̷̶̵̵̷̴̵̴̴̵̴̴̴̵̶̶̶̶̴̵̴̶̶̴̴̴̴̴̷̷̵̴̩̠̜̽ͤ͠͞’s flashstepping ceased. There was a slash in the right side of his shirt, and a cut maybe a quarter inch deep near his hips. Blood gushed out of the wound onto his signature white polo. _

_ “Sh-shit! Are you okay, D-” _

_ Ḑ̷̵̵̴̵̷̶̷̵̶̶̷̷̴̵̵̴̷̷̴̷̵̷̴̷̴̶̵̴̶̵̴̛̮̑ͨ͛̚͞i̶̷̶̶̴̶̶̵̷̵̶̴̷̷̷̵̶̶̷̴̶̶̴̶̵̴̴̵̴̷̶̵̡̠̜̗̓́̂̈r̶̴̶̵̶̴̴̴̷̴̷̵̵̷̵̴̴̶̴̴̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̷̴̴̴̭̻͚̻͚ͦ͛̚k̷̶̷̷̵̴̵̷̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̶̵̴̷̵̶̴̴̷̶̴̷̴̵̷̵̰̯̰̻͇̒ͦ͝ stood up.  _

_ He didn’t look angry or hurt at all. _

_ “N-nah, kid. I’ve had much worse. Jeez, though, that’s the first real hit you’ve ever landed on me… great job.” _

_ Despite the praises, Dave still moved down to examine the wound. His katana had pierced straight through the area right above Ḑ̷̵̵̴̵̷̶̷̵̶̶̷̷̴̵̵̴̷̷̴̷̵̷̴̷̴̶̵̴̶̵̴̛̮̑ͨ͛̚͞i̶̷̶̶̴̶̶̵̷̵̶̴̷̷̷̵̶̶̷̴̶̶̴̶̵̴̴̵̴̷̶̵̡̠̜̗̓́̂̈r̶̴̶̵̶̴̴̴̷̴̷̵̵̷̵̴̴̶̴̴̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̷̴̴̴̭̻͚̻͚ͦ͛̚k̷̶̷̷̵̴̵̷̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̶̵̴̷̵̶̴̴̷̶̴̷̴̵̷̵̰̯̰̻͇̒ͦ͝’s hips- a few inches to the left, and it could have… _

_ “Hey. Davey. Dun worry ‘bout it. I can get this treated. You did good, kid.” B̴̷̴̷̵̵̷̵̴̴̶̴̴̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̷̴̴̴̴̷̷̵̶̶̶̨̺̳͈̘̝ͣ̆r̷̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̶̵̴̷̵̶̴̴̷̶̴̷̴̵̷̵̵̵̵̴̴̴̵̹͓̬̞̣ͫ͠ͅọ̷̶̵̵̷̴̵̴̴̵̴̴̴̵̶̶̶̶̴̵̴̶̶̴̴̴̴̴̷̷̵̴̩̠̜̽ͤ͠͞ ruffled Dave’s bright blond hair with a smile- not even a smirk, an actual smile- and stood up, tensing a bit from the pain in his side. In less than a second, he was gone, flashstepping downstairs with Cal, and leaving a smuppet in his place. _

_ Dave finally did it. He landed a hit. _

_ He couldn’t have felt worse about an accomplishment. _

 

Dave shot up out of bed in a cold sweat. Who was that? Why were they sword fighting? Why did a twelve-year-old have a goddamn sword? Did he hurt that other guy?

Dave sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. It was probably the middle of the night. But what even was that dream? Was it some cliche thing about his backstory? A memory? Or was it something made up in his head?

Questions pounded in Dave’s skull, but sleep beckoned again and he passed out as quickly as he had awoken.

 

The weeks flew by surprisingly quickly. Aside from his dream that first night, things went very smoothly for Dave at the Leaky Cauldron. Some days he would spend just wandering around the shops, browsing the items and enjoying the late summer weather. Others, Harry would talk to him about the wizarding world, explaining how magic worked, what the foods foreign tot the American were made with, and more than anything, what he was in for at Hogwarts.

“You see, Dave, there are four houses in Hogwarts. They sort new students at the beginning of the year, and that’ll decide where you stay until you graduate. There’s Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.” Harry paused, taking a bite of his hot caramel sundae. The sun was shining bright over their outdoor table, threatening to melt Florean Fortescue’s icy treat.

“Huh. How do they decide what house you’re in?”

“Well, it’s mostly based on your personal values. I’m a Gryffindor, and my house favors courage and boldness. Ravenclaw values wisdom and intelligence, Hufflepuff values loyalty and patience, and Slytherin values cunning and resourcefulness. Most Slytherins are a rotten bunch, though…”

“Don’t be house-ist, man,” Dave replied, smirking. “I wonder where I’ll be put. I mean, all of those things are important to me… pinpointing a person’s values is like trying to shoot a gun at a target, except you’re shooting a rusty pin, you’re nearsighted, and the target is 500 feet away, constantly teleporting, and also a fly. You only get one shot and only plot armor stronger than the fabric of reality would let you pull it off without some major cheating involved.”

“I think you’d make a fine Gryffindor. What with your love of red.” Harry laughed. “And I think you seem like a brave person… you speak your mind, at least.”

“Nah. I’m no heroic justice-bringer or any of that shit.” Dave licked a drip of his salted caramel ice cream off the waffle cone, where it had been threatening to fall onto his hand. 

“Harry! HARRY!”

Harry flinched when he heard someone yell his name, but a smile broke over his face when he saw his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, running towards him- Rone looking incredibly freckly, Hermione very brown. Both of them were carrying several bags. They quickly took a seat across from him, smiling dorkily.

“Finally! We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you’d left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin’s, and-”

“I got all my school stuff last week,” Harry explained. “And how come you knew I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Dad,” Ron replied simply. “Hey Harry, who’s your friend?” Ron broke his gaze at Harry to finally notice Dave sitting next to Harry, stoic as always.

“Sup. I’m Dave Strider.” Dave took a chomp out of the ball of ice cream on its cone.

“Well, great to meet you, Dave- I’m Hermione, this is Ron- but, Harry, did you  _ really _ blow up your aunt?” Hermione asked in a serious tone. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry replied as Ron laughed. “I just- lost control.”

“It’s not funny, Ron! Honestly, I’m amazed Harry wasn’t expelled.”

“So am I,” admitted Harry. “Forget expelled, I thought I was going to be arrested.” He looked at Ron. “Your dad doesn’t know why Fudge let me off, does he?”

“Probably ‘cause it’s you, isn’t it?” shrugged Ron, still chuckling. “Famous Harry Potter and all that. I’d hate to see what the Ministry’d done to  _ me _ if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they’d have to dig me up first, because Mum would’ve killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too! So you can come to King’s Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione’s there as well!”

“Sweet. We’re making it a fucking party, huh?” Dave interrupted. “I’ll bring the cake and the cheap paper hats with the strings that snap around your neck.”

“Oh yes. I almost forgot you were here, Dave,” Hermione snorted. “Say, how did you meet Harry anyways? I’ve never seen you around school…”

“Mostly because we only met a couple weeks ago when I teleported into his hotel room with a sword wound the size of Texas in my chest. I guess I died for a bit, but then I came back to life in some flashy lights and some dude with a beard told me I’m a wizard. Actually, your friend was jus’ telling me about Hogwarts houses or something.”

“Wait, you-  _ what _ ?” Hermione sputtered. “You died, and came back to life? That’s impossible, isn’t it, though? Even the most powerful magic can’t bring people back from the dead.”

“That’s what I’ve been told. Guess I’m a special snowflake or some shit.” Dave took another bite out of the ice cream, licking a stray bit of the treat off the edge of his mouth. “Probably doesn’t help that I’ve got amnesia.”

“Harry, is he telling the truth?” Ron gawked.

“Yes, he is. Woke me up with all the lights, too… and I was having a nice dream. You two should get some ice cream, and then we can catch up.”

Ron made a few sputtering noises. Hermione pulled the redhead away so that they could get their own ice cream, still staring at Dave, and a few minutes later, they came back with their own frozen delicacies.

“So, have you got all your new books and stuff?” Harry said happily.

“We do! Look at this,” Ron said, pulling a long, thin box out of one of the bags and opening it. “Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair. And we’ve got all our books-” He pointed at one of the larger bags that had been shoved under his chair. “What about those  _ Monster Books _ , eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two.”

“What’s all that, Hermione?” Harry asked, pointing at the three bulging bags in the chair next to her.

“Well, I’m taking more new subjects than you, aren’t I? Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies-”

“What are you doing Muggle Studies for?” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “You’re Muggle-born! Your mum and dad  _ are _ Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!”

“But it’ll be fascinating to learn about them from the wizarding point of view!” Hermione replied earnestly.

“Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?” Harry asked while Ron simply sniggered.

“Damn, workaholic much?” Dave rolled his eyes. “I cannot see how you three are friends. Harry talks a lot about you two. Now I see the truth, though. Behind his lies of this human emotion called friendship lie a redhead dweeb and a lady who does nothing but study. Harry, this is slander. I demand to speak to whatever little dude in your brain made the little dudes in my brain believe you befriend normal people- ow, what the fuck, man?” Ron smacked Dave in the head.

“Oh come on! We aren’t that terrible,” Ron groaned. “Besides, you’re the one who’s rambling and cursing twice per sentence!”

“I’ve still got ten Galleons,” Hermione said, ignoring them and checking her purse. “It’s my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present.”

“How about a  _ nice _ book?” Ron suggested innocently.

“No, I don’t think so. I really want an owl. I mean, Harry’s got Hedwig and you’ve got Errol-”

“I haven’t,” said Ron. “Errol’s a family owl. All I’ve got is Scabbers.” He pulled the rat out of his pocket. “And I want to get him checked over, I don’t think Egypt agreed with him.”

“Jesus, he looks terrible,” Dave said, looking over the sickly-seeming animal. He was thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers. “You sure you don’t want to just, you know, put him out of his misery?”

“There’s a magical creature shop just over there,” Harry intercepted before Ron could be offended. “You could see if they’ve got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl.”

The four finished their ice cream and crossed the street to the Magical Menagerie. Dave looked around the space, tightly filled with creatures of every shape and size. Owls fluttering in cages, cats mewling in theirs, toads, snakes, newts, tortoises… 

“Whoa, this place is fucking nuts,” Dave muttered as they examined the cages. Rabbits, snails, rats, mice… but what caught Dave’s eye most was a sleek black raven. Dave picked up the cage, looking at the bird through his tinted shades. It cawed softly at him.

“You seem pretty interested in that crow, eh?” Hermione asked Dave, still looking around at the animals as Ron and Harry went up to the counter to talk to the witch about Scabbers. “They’re quite nice animals once you get past all the squawking.”

“He seems pretty cool,” Dave said with a shrug. “Don’t have any money, though. Since I’m a muggle-born or whatever that old guy said, I just get all my school shit covered.”

“If you want, I could get him for you,” Hermione said with a smile, glancing at the price tag. “Most of the pets here are five or six Galleons, but it looks like he’s only 3.”

“That’d be sweet, thanks dude,” Dave said coolly. A little smile of thanks and happiness broke his poker face as the bird gave him a chirp. 

“-OUCH!” Dave turned around at the sound of Ron screeching. He had been knocked to the floor by what appeared to be an huge orange ball of fur, which quickly moved on from the human and set its sights on the rat in the clerk’s hands.

“NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!” the witch at the desk yelled, but Scabbers wiggled out of her hands, landed on the ground with a  _ thump _ and a squeak, and shot towards the door.

“Scabbers!” Ron shouted, racing after the rat as Harry followed. The witch grabbed the cat, which continued to hiss in the direction that Scabbers had ran.

“Oh my goodness!” Hermione said. “What kind of cat is that?”

“You mean Crookshanks? He’s a Himalayan. No magical properties, except his apparent ability to be nothing but trouble for four years…” she grumbled.

“Four years? You mean no one’s taken him for that long?”

“Yes… we took him in when he was already around two years, and not a lot of people go looking in the market for older cats,” the clerk explained, attempting to calm the beast.

“But why wouldn’t anyone take him? He’s wonderful!”

“If  _ you _ wanted him, I would very gladly lend him off to you. Nothing but trouble, this furball.”

Hermione thought for a moment before pulling out her purse. “I’ll take him! And I’ll also take the crow that Dave has.” Dave walked around to the front of the store to place the bird’s cage on the table.

“Alright then,” the witch smiled, almost relieved. “That should total out to nine Galleons, four sickles.” Hermione dumped her money on the table, and the witch quickly counted it out, giving her her change. “And your friend forgot this, too, you ought to give him it.” Hermione opened her hand and took the red bottle of rat tonic. “Have a nice day!”

Hermione smiled widely as she took Crookshanks in her arms, stroking his ginger fur. The cat purred in her grasp, relaxing some of the tension left over from chasing down Scabbers. Hermione and Dave walked out of the Magical Menagerie with their new pets happily.

“Where’s Hermione?”

“Probably getting her owl-”

“Hey dudes, over here!” Dave yelled when he noticed Ron and Harry walking their way.

“Oh there they- you  _ bought  _ that monster?!” Ron cut himself off, noticing Crookshanks in Hermione’s grasp.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” the bushy-haired girl said, glowing with pride and excitement.

“Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!”

“Oh he didn’t mean to, did you, Crookshanks?”

“And what about Scabbers? He needs rest and relaxation! How’s he going to get it with that thing around?”

“That reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic,” Hermione said, shoving the little bottle into Ron’s hand. “And stop worrying, will you? Crookshanks will be in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours, what’s the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he’d been in there for ages; no one wanted him.”

“I wonder why,” Ron said with bitterness and sarcasm. “We should go back to the Cauldron, Dad’s gonna wonder where we went.”

“Er, Dave, you got a crow?” Harry asked, trying to turn the subject as they began to walk back to the inn.

“Yup. Hermie got it for me. Thanks again for it, by the way. Means a lot.” Dave clicked open the cage, letting the crow hop out. It perched on Dave’s finger with a caw. “I’m gonna name you Flip.”

“Flip?” Ron asked. “Why Flip?”

“Short for Flippin’. Flippin’ the bird.”

Hermione facepalmed. Ron snorted. Harry laughed.

“Honestly, Dave, if there’s one thing I don’t like about you so far it’s that you’re so immature,” Hermione groaned as the other boys roared in laughter. 

“Hey, I was born and raised in the USA. Can’t help my lack of consideration for others. Shit’s as natural as breathing by now.” Flip warbled in agreement. “See? This dude gets it.”

“Say, Dave… was all that you were saying earlier true? About… dying?” Ron asked as he stopped laughing.

“Eh, yeah. Not much to say about it though. I died, I’m not dead now, deal with it,” Dave said as he scratched at Flip’s sleek black plumage. “Not gonna get answers out of a guy who doesn’t have them.”

Hermione pursed her lips, staring at Dave curiously. 

Something was definitely off.

 

“Hey, Ron?”

“Yes?”

“Does anything seem… I don’t know, a bit strange about Dave?”

Ron leaned back in his chair, looking at Hermione next to him in the dying bustle of the Leaky Cauldron. “I mean, I wouldn’t suppose so. He seems like a normal enough kid.”

“But- how powerful of a wizard would you have to be to revive yourself?” Hermione asked, rubbing her forehead. “According to Harry, he started flashing with light a few seconds after his pulse stopped, then came back to life with all his wounds gone. Maybe he’s a descendant of some Dark wizard?”

“Come of it, Hermione,” Ron sighed, “and just try to relax a bit! We’re going to school tomorrow, we should both be getting our things packed and getting some sleep. You don’t seem to want to get much at school with all those extra classes.” Without another word, Ron stood up and left Hermione at the empty table, thinking hard.

“It’s intriguing…” the bushy-haired girl mumbled, looking at the ground. 

It seemed she would be taking an interest in yet another elective this year- investigating this mysterious shaded character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> made a drawing for this too lol  
> https://someartistnamedlily.tumblr.com/post/184024302915/made-a-mcfuckin-uuuh-drawing-dave-timespace?is_highlighted_post=1
> 
> also no one cares but today's the first anniversary of me starting to write crap so good for me i guess


End file.
